One of the Boys
by Little Spartan
Summary: AU: Bulma sets out to prove that she could be one of the boys. Disguised as her brother Goku, she joins the high school men's martial arts team to win the World Martial Arts Tournament Team Division while falling for Vegeta Prince, the hot and arrogant captain of the team. She's soon thrown into a battle of love triangles and school politics. BulmaxVegeta & GxC
1. One of the Boys

**One of the Boys**

Disclaimer:I don't own any of the Dragon Ball Series or its continuations and spin-offs. This is loosely based off of Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night. _It's a sort of Dragon Ball Z version of _She's the Man _but that doesn't mean the same events will occur. ;)

Author's Note: I've been on a serious Dragon Ball Z binge. After scouring FF's databases for GokuxChi-Chi and BulmaxVegeta fanfiction, I feel like I was just left mostly with disappointment. So then I thought, 'Why not write your own?' So, here I am writing my own.

_Everybody has a secret… Vegeta is pining after Chi-Chi. Chi-Chi likes Goku, who is actually Bulma in disguise whose brother is dating Maron. Bulma hates Chi-Chi who is with Vegeta just to make Goku jealous, but Goku is really Bulma who is crushing on Vegeta who thinks she's a guy. Who knew high school could be so complicated?_

**Chapter One: One of the Boys  
**

* * *

A smirk fixed itself determinedly on her face as she brushed back wisps of blue hair behind her ears. Her bare feet dug themselves into a firm stance as she attempted to predict her opponent's next move. Hands raised ready to deflect or strike, she bounced on the balls of her feet and easily evaded a jab. She ducked her head low, pulling slightly to the left, and avoided another punch.

He was taller than she, stronger too, but brute strength hadn't stopped her before. She had sparred with many who were considered superior to her in physical prowess. She wasn't known for her might. She was a tactician, calm and calculating.

She pivoted, deflected another blow, and threw in three quick jabs. The first was to the jaw to daze her opponent. The next two were more prominent strikes, each landing effectively to the stomach. He fell back for a moment before approaching her again, this time with confidence.

He swung hard. She wasn't able to dodge quickly enough. This one connected with her cheek, knocking her back slightly. He got another few hits in. She stumbled more, nearly losing her balance. He had always been a tough opponent, but she wasn't about to give up just yet.

She back-flipped, allowing herself some distance for recovery. When she regained her composure and poise, she returned closer. It was time to put her tactfulness to work. She faked left, then right, surged forward for an uppercut. It connected flawlessly.

She sent a powerful elbow to his chest, spun and then strong-armed him. Ponytail whipping behind her head, she rapidly moved from the pathway of his fists as he attempted to counter. She kicked hard at the back of his knees and sent him face planting into the sand. Sand grains sprayed upward, pelting her legs slightly as she launched herself into the air, arms raised like a champion. She let out a triumphant howl.

Behind her, each of her friends cheered enthusiastically. Bulma placed her hands to her ponytail, tightened it, and approached her boyfriend, offering him her hand in assistance.

Graciously, he accepted the hand and allowed her to hoist him upward from the sand. Once on his feet, he captured her playfully by the legs, threw her over his shoulders and twirled her.

Laughter escaped from her lips as she called for him to set her down. Of course, she didn't mean the cries in the least. She loved any time he showed her affection.

"You big bully," she accused, pretending to beat her fists against his back but each blow was gentle. "Put me down!"

He finally complied by setting her down in the sand. Positioning himself above her, he pressed his lips to hers. Her hands instinctively rose to his face, tilting his head tenderly to deepen their kiss.

When she pulled away, he was smiling goofily. The scar on his face crinkled slightly as the corners of his lips tugged the smile even wider. "I have to admit, you're getting really good."

"Thanks, Yamcha. You're not too bad yourself," she replied. Her lips peeled back to reveal a boasting grin. "When we first started dating, you weren't that great of a kisser."

Yamcha scowled slightly in mock injury, but then laughed at her gibe. "I was referring to becoming a good fighter, smart ass. You've definitely surpassed at least half the guys on my team." His hand intertwined itself within the silky blue strands of her ponytail.

She looked pensive for a moment and then said, "I'm probably cuter too."

Before he could respond again, she pulled him to her for another kiss. The two had gotten lost in one another for a moment until Yamcha suddenly jerked back.

"What do you mean I wasn't that great?" He arched an eyebrow, awaiting her reply.

"Poor baby." Bulma wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him toward her. "Practice makes perfect."

**The Following Day, Orange Star High School Training Field**

Two uniformed young girls happily plodded through the grass field, enraptured by their conversation as they lead the way for the rest of their team to follow. Each team member had a duffel bag with their workout equipment and their hair decisively pulled back from their faces.

The leader of the group bounced a dragon ball playfully from hand to hand. She had won it after her sparring session with her boyfriend. It was a trophy of sorts, symbolizing recognition of superiority. Any time the two sparred, the victor was awarded the safekeeping of the crystalline orb.

Together, she and Yamcha had collected one during a geo-caching escapade. There were seven collectible dragon balls, and once all of them had been brought together, it was said any wish made with them would come true. Bulma and Yamcha had decided that if they gathered all seven, they'd wish for eternal happiness and lots of children.

Perhaps it was cheesy, but Bulma was a hopeless romantic at heart and a fan of myths such as those, wishful thinking or not. There were several stories of upperclassmen from the different high schools of their city who had gathered all the dragon balls to make wishes of winning national titles for their schools, passing their final exams, getting an affirmative response to asking their crush to a school dance, being accepted into their premier college of choice and many other desires of the average high school student. If those could all come true, surely that meant the urban legend was true.

Bulma stopped in her tracks, snapping back to reality as she took note of an unfamiliar presence. Brow furrowed, she turned to her companion Launch and the remainder of her team members. "What's the track team doing out here on our training field?"

She and her teammates exchanged uneasy glances for a moment, no one able to offer any sort of explanation.

Ranfan Garment, Bulma's good friend and co-captain approached them with fervor. Before Bulma could ask Ranfan if she had any ideas as to the invasion, the purple-haired girl lifted a clipboard up. "Apparently, our school's budget cuts mean we are no longer a team. We don't have enough team members so we're expendable."

"What?" Bulma took the clipboard in her hands and studied the information. "So just because we didn't meet their quota, our team is getting cut from the World Martial Arts Tournament?" She scoffed, returning the clipboard to Ranfan. "This is total bull."

"They can't do that to us," added Launch, punching her right fist into the palm of her left hand. The action made a loud smack as she scowled.

Known for her notorious mood swings, Launch often dyed her hair in two different tones. Currently she sported the ombre hairstyle with harsh black on the top of her head before it lightened at her shoulders into blonde. At first the style had earned her several critiquing looks from her peers until her hairdo was copied and had become very popular among girls her age. With it becoming such a common look, Launch swore to change it again drastically into something more absurd in hopes she wouldn't set anymore trends. Usually sudden events, such as their current situation, would prompt and inspire her to get a new look.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," Bulma vowed. Her hand squeezed tightly around the orange dragon ball she'd carelessly been playing with earlier.

Her casual stride became quite determined as she crossed the grass to the other side of the training field where the men's martial arts team was currently practicing. The rest of the team followed closely behind her.

Bulma sidled up to Coach Ginyu, who refused to look her way even when she held up the clipboard she had reclaimed from Ranfan. Instead, he stared straight ahead at his team, pretending to be fixated on their practice. "Hello, ladies. I heard what happened—it's a shame your team got cut."

"A shame?" Bulma repeated in astonishment. "This is life ruining!"

"Totally career damaging," agreed Launch. "College scouts aren't going to see us compete. How are we supposed to get any scholarships now?"

Still refusing to make eye contact, Ginyu shrugged. "The school's done you a real disservice. Let me know if there's anything I can do to lessen the impact of the situation." He lacked any hints of remorse despite his words.

"There is something you can do actually. You can let us try out for your men's team."

Ginyu chuckled, at last looking at Bulma who wasn't amused whatsoever. "Oh, you were serious?" He returned his line of vision back to his team who had all become suddenly aware of the conversation taking place. Giving them a look which suggested for them to mind their business and keep practicing, he said to the girls, "Well, I can't do _that_. It'll have to be something more practical."

Bulma wasn't going to give up, and she certainly hadn't appreciated Ginyu's divided concentration. She moved to stand directly in front of him, demanding his attention. "Practical? You're very well aware of our skills as fighters. We've won our women's team division the past six years in a row—a feat no other female team has accomplished in this tournament." She met his dark eyes straight on, despite the difference in height. "Let us try out for your team."

Coach Ginyu sighed. He uncrossed his arms and put them exasperatedly to rest on his hips. "Look girls, school begins in two weeks. We scrimmage against the Saiyans, a rivalry match we cannot afford to lose even this early in the season. Our victory will set the tone for the entire season and likely be a determining factor of who will take in the World Martial Arts Tournament. Year after year, without fail, we are matched up with Saiyan Academy in the finals and must defend our title as last year's champions. They've been training hard to beat us the past couple years and I'm not willing to sacrifice our title to let you ladies try out."

"What's going on coach?" Yamcha had jogged up to join the conversation although the coach had given him a prior look to continue training.

"The ladies want me to let them try out for our team," Ginyu explained, offhandedly. He made it evident in his voice that he had absolutely no interest in humoring them.

"You can't be serious, babe." Yamcha had begun to chuckle and the scar Bulma had once thought of as endearing suddenly looked cruel. In a matter of seconds, her boyfriend had lost all his charm and she wondered, most sourly, what he actually thought of her and their relationship.

By now, the rest of the men's team had put their training on pause and come to offer their team captain support. They clustered around Yamcha in reinforcement. One of them, Tien Shinhan, slung an arm around Yamcha and sneered. "You're dreaming if you think you can contend with us. Go back to the kitchen."

That hit a nerve. Bulma snarled, about to challenge Tien to a duel right then and there, but Coach Ginyu had predicted her reaction and held an arm to bar her way. "Alright, simmer down everyone." When he felt Bulma was no longer a threat, he lowered his arm and continued. "It's a scientific fact that men are stronger and better fighters than women. You can't argue with science."

Bulma recognized that the comment was specifically designated to deter her. Everyone was well aware of her father's accomplishments at Capsule Corporation and that she showed great promise as a scientist herself. However true the scientific fact of men exhibiting greater physical prowess, it still didn't quite make men better fighters. Physical ability didn't always determine a winner in a fight. She herself was proof of that. Skill, talent, tactics and even sometimes luck all played key roles alongside power in a match. And the scientist in her, feeling challenged, would test that theory somehow to prove them all wrong. She wasn't going to let anyone tell her she wasn't good enough. She could easily be one of the boys.

"Women will always lose to men in a fight." Ginyu's voice was flat.

She turned to her boyfriend for support, expecting to find encouragement. "Yamcha, you're the team captain. Give us your input."

Yamcha shrugged. "Coach Ginyu already took the words out of my mouth."

She arched her eyebrow. Often times she and Yamcha would butt heads, get into little spats every now and then as did most high school couples, but she always felt that when push came to shove, Yamcha would be there for her. She felt betrayed, like she'd done a trust fall and just when he was supposed to catch her, he let her fall. "That's not what you said yesterday when I kicked your ass. You told me I'd surpassed most these chumps standing behind you."

His expression was no longer lighthearted as his teammates looked to him in surprise and disapproval of Bulma's allegation. "Bulma," he said sternly, "I've never expressed that to you before."

"You've got to be kidding me," she cried, taken aback so much it showed in her body language as she withdrew a few steps. Never would she have expected Yamcha to retract his statement or to lie to her. "You can't seriously lie to my face like that when I was there! How could you?" Her expression shifted from angry determination to severe hurt. Yamcha had betrayed her so effortlessly.

"Bulma, I'm not continuing this talk with you." Yamcha folded his arms and took a definitive stance. Bulma looked from his face to the face of his friends, his teammates, whose jeering countenances all seemed to match.

They were united against her and her boyfriend was doing nothing to defend her. She supposed that the Yamcha she spent private company with was far different than the Yamcha before her who was backed by the overflowing testosterone emanating from him and his teammates. Right now, he was someone else. Some casually cruel version of Yamcha she had never known existed. But perhaps he had been there all along and she was just now noticing.

"Fine by me, Yamcha," she said in a low voice. "I'm not continuing this relationship with you."

Tien, and the rest of Yamcha's teammates, made a fuss from behind him and returned to their place on the field, withdrawing their support. Yamcha was grateful for the privacy although he felt more than annoyed by their reaction. Bulma had put him in his place, and they all took off like frightened rabbits unable to provide him endorsement.

"Come on, Bulma." His voice came out in a soft whine, calling her back to the conversation. "Don't be like that. I'm just worried that you'll get hurt and I can't do anything about it."

She didn't need to hear him attempt to rationalize the situation with false concern for her well-being. She and he knew very well that he had omitted the actual truth of the matter. She was already walking off.

Then Bulma sighed. Still, she couldn't call it quits just yet with Yamcha. She turned back and approached, looking down to the dragon ball she held in her hand. She then looked up to her now ex-boyfriend. She took him in, all of him, as if for the first time.

Yamcha, tall, dark and undoubtedly handsome, had always been dependable and supportive. Bulma had been convinced she'd marry him eventually and they'd spend the rest of their lives together in bliss, growing old and admiring their children.

When they first met, he'd been painfully shy, almost completely unable to be in her presence without blushing. It took some great time before he had grown more comfortable around her. However, she noticed sometime during last summer when he left on an extended absence to train, something had changed within him. He returned with a more confident attitude and facial scars. At first, she thought they suited him, made him appear more rugged, adding to his charisma. But now she could see clearly that the scars he received during his time spent away from her were more than just physical remnants of what had occurred. He'd become cocky, started flirting with other women behind her back—something she'd been in denial of despite the many claims of their mutual friends. She'd felt they had to be mistaken, such deluded thinking.

Gazing back into his eyes, she searched hard for the Yamcha she'd fallen in love with, for the man that had promised her forever. "You're so considerate of me." But there was just an echo of w ho he used to be. She saw through it now. "And you're so full of—"

Coach Ginyu blew his whistle hard to cut off her cursing and urge Yamcha back to practice with the rest of the team. With abrupt force, Bulma threw the dragon ball and clonked her ex-boyfriend good in the forehead. He struggled to catch the orange sphere in his hands.

Dumbfounded, the youth stared after Bulma who had long marched off. He watched as she disappeared through the parking lot, diminishing any chances of salvaging their relationship. It was clear she would remain firm on her decision. He dropped the dragon ball in his duffel bag and returned to his training.

* * *

Author's Note: Classic Bulma and Yamcha, always fighting! Hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I think it's always fun to throw the characters into high school and see how it plays out.

Do you think Yamcha will find a way to win Bulma back?

Do you think Bulma will easily forgive him or move on?

What sort of action do you think Bulma will take to prove her point?

Let me know in a review.


	2. When Dreaming Gets Drastic

**One of the Boys**

Disclaimer:I don't own any of the Dragon Ball Series or its continuations and spin-offs. This is loosely based off of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night."

Summary: Bulma hatches a wild scheme to compete in the World Martial Arts Tournament.

**Chapter Two: When Dreaming Gets Drastic**

* * *

Bulma spent her entire walk home sulking. She had pensively taken out her phone more times than she'd like to admit with her finger hovering over the send button.

_Can we talk?_ read the text she had saved as a draft.

"No, we can't," she said aloud, and promptly deleted the draft message for good, removing the temptation to send it. It would be exceedingly difficult to get over Yamcha, whom she missed already, but she would have to do it.

She drew the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and planted her headphones into her ears. She'd mourn the loss of Yamcha with heartbreak songs until she was strong enough to switch to more empowering breakup anthems. Reflexively, she reached to touch the dragon ball she kept in her sweatshirt pocket and was met with only lint.

'That's right,' she thought somberly. She had forgotten that she'd given it back to Yamcha, quite abrasively she might add. She would have to break the habit of bouncing it back and forth between her hands, a tendency she had developed which had often given her reassurance. But even if she did still have it with her, it wouldn't have brought her the same comfort as before. It could only serve as a reminder of the once shared wishes of her and Yamcha.

Forget the dragon ball. She didn't want it back.

She let out a frustrated breath as she entered through the wrought iron gate, granting her access to the front yard of her home.

She yelped when she felt an arm squeeze her shoulder, jerk her back, and spin her around. She came face to face with Maron Lovelace, the more-than-irritating girlfriend of her adoptive brother Goku. She never understood what he saw in the cleavage-revealing, low cut blouse-wearing nuisance. Pursing her lips, she believed she had just answered her own question.

"Yes, Maron?" Bulma plucked her headphones from her ears to give the young woman her full attention, whether she deserved it or not. 'Especially after _that_,' Bulma grimaced, thinking back to the interruptive manhandling.

"Oh," the girl said disappointedly. "I thought you were your brother Goku." Bulma wasn't amused with the mistake. Maron the Moron—as she often called her in private—wasn't too sharp, but she would have at least given her credit of the ability to distinguish between male and female. She thought that Maron's choice of boyfriend could serve as evidence of that, but Bulma supposed that wasn't the case after all. "You don't really have curves like I do so it's an easy mistake for me to have made."

Bulma nearly winced at the slight. Maron was not only dimwitted; she could also be astonishingly insulting. She and Bulma had never seen eye to eye and despite being a member of Goku's family, Maron never made any real attempt at friendship. All she cared about was Goku, not that Bulma deemed that as a bad quality, but the girl could have benefitted more from having some manners or at least being cordial with his loved ones.

"It's always a pleasure seeing you too," Bulma said, to which Maron rolled her eyes after catching the sarcasm.

"I'm looking for your brother Goku," Maron said snippily. "Where is he?"

She always found it somewhat amusing that Maron would always distinguish which brother she was in search of. The obvious answer was Goku since she was _his_ girlfriend, and Raditz could hardly tolerate her as much as Bulma could.

Bulma shrugged. "I haven't a clue." She gave a small gasp, causing Maron's eyes to widen with worry. "Oh, my God! Do you think—no, that can't be it." Theatrics were Bulma's specialty when necessary.

"Think what?" Maron leaned forward, waiting impatiently for an answer. "What can't be it?" The second question was strained, more desperate.

"Do you think he could be hiding from his psychotic girlfriend?" Bulma smirked at her own wit, earning another eye roll from Maron.

"You think you're so clever," she spat. "You let your brother Goku know how lucky he is to be my boyfriend and that if he wants to keep it that way then he needs to give me a call."

"Are you sure he has your number? You'd think if he did, he would actually call instead of choosing to avoid you." Bulma smiled brilliantly to irritate the girl further. "I mean, that's why you stalked your way here, right?"

Maron didn't let the joke defeat her. To Bulma's surprise, she smiled back. "I heard the bad news about your team getting cut from Orange Star. Must suck for you, but you're not that talented of a fighter to begin with. They did you a favor." With that, she spun on her heel and left Bulma, mouth slightly agape, to glare after her.

Bulma let out an unexpected growl. She not only had no hopes of competing in the World Martial Arts Tournament or patching things up with Yamcha, but she had lost a battle of wits to Maron the Moron. Today just was not her day.

"What's this world coming to?" she moaned, and then continued up the walkway to the front door. The moment she crossed the threshold into the house, her mother cried out in glee of her arrival.

Mrs. Brief, hands together as her whole body quivered with excitement, said, "Oh, there you are, Bulma-darling!"

"The apocalypse is here," Bulma surmised out loud, but her mother ignored the remark.

"I have a surprise for you!" Every time Mrs. Brief spoke, or did anything really, her eyes always seemed to be closed. It was as if everything was too thrilling for her to open them any further. Bulma often wondered how she could see anything at all like that, but never openly questioned it. She figured that she probably didn't need or want to know the answer.

"Mom, can we do this later," Bulma groaned, slinging her duffel bag on the floor near the foot of the stairs. "I'm having like the worst day of my life."

Mrs. Brief was undeterred. She pressed her hands clumsily to Bulma's eyes as if to shield them. 'Great,' Bulma thought gingerly, 'She wants me to be blind too.'

"I have something that will turn that frown upside down," her mother promised. "I'm going to take my hands off you. Just keep your eyes closed."

"Okay, fine." Bulma sighed, giving in. True to her word, she kept her eyes sealed. She could hear her mother bouncing with delight upon the wooden floorboards as she scurried someplace nearby. When she returned, she instructed Bulma to open her eyes. Against her better judgment, Bulma allowed her eyes to flutter open.

In her arms, Mrs. Brief held the most gaudy looking kimono Bulma had ever seen. The sleeves were long and drooping and the fabric too bright. The design was tolerable but was cluttered and looked too busy. Then it took a more dramatic turn, fanning out into layers upon layers of floor length fabric. Either her mother had guessed the wrong size or had suspected Bulma would gain weight in the very near future. And the worst part was that there were more beside her, spread out on the couch, all in different colors.

Her mother couldn't be serious. "What in Kami's name?" Bulma demanded.

"Aren't they elegant?" Mrs. Brief cooed, embracing one of the kimonos like she'd embrace a small beloved child, too tightly and adoringly. "Like something royalty would wear."

"Mom, I've told you so many times that all that girly stuff just isn't for me." Bulma sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples and giving them a quick massage to prevent an oncoming migraine from seizing her. This day was getting worse with each moment. There had to be a way for her to just sleep it off if only she could make it to her bedroom without further interruption.

Mrs. Brief's lips trembled. "I don't know how I ended up with such a tomboy for a daughter. All you ever want to do is fight and conduct science experiments. This is your father's doing."

"Well either it's the end of the world, or I've been wrong this whole time and the stars are aligning—I don't know—but you don't have to worry about the fighting anymore. My team's been cut from Orange Star." Bulma turned away and gathered her duffel bag.

"That's awful," squeaked Mrs. Brief even though she was positively thrilled. Fighting wasn't for girls, at least not for her beautiful bell, Bulma. Her daughter belonged in an exquisite robe with her hair and makeup done delicately, like a porcelain doll, as she served tea and entertained guests with a variety of artistic skills like the recital of poetry or an elegant dance. That was something Mrs. Brief could be truly proud of. The news was almost too good to be true. "No Martial Arts Tournament?" Mrs. Brief asked just to be reassured her daughter would now be placed on the correct path of womanhood.

"Nope." Bulma had just made it up a few steps of the stairs when she turned again to face her mother who was still clutching the same gown from earlier to her chest. "I can see how disappointed you are," she stated flatly.

"Yamcha would probably get down on his knee for you in this kimono." Her mother's eyes sparkled dreamily.

"Firstly, I'd hate to see Yamcha in a kimono." Bulma was picking at her mother's sentence structure, but her mother didn't catch the jeer. "He and I broke up today—like not even an hour ago." Bulma proceeded back up the stairs.

"How could you two break up?" She could hear the shock in her mother's voice. Her mother, for whatever reason, had always been a huge fan of Yamcha, often taking his side in arguments and encouraging Bulma to humble herself and apologize first. "What happened?"

"I dumped him."

"Why would you do such a thing?" Mrs. Brief sounded distressed. "You two have been together since your first year in junior high school. You've been inseparable. Besides, he's so manly and charismatic." Two of her mother's favorite qualities in men which she often complained Mr. Brief lacked. "He has star quality, you know." She paused. "And he's just the perfect man for you. I thought you two were going to get married. I really wanted him in our family."

Bulma rolled her eyes. As if she needed reminding of Yamcha's finer qualities, no matter how over exaggerated they were. "How about you marry him then?"

For a moment, her mother almost seemed to consider it, and then burst into giggles as she shook her head. "Oh, no! I'm twice his age. That would be silly."

Dropping off her duffel bag in her room, Bulma changed direction suddenly. She needed to talk to someone who could comfort her. Raditz wasn't home yet, but at least Goku was.

Her family had adopted both biological brothers at a young age after their grandfather Gohan had died, leaving them orphaned. It was originally the idea of Mr. Brief, but Mrs. Brief was happy to have company other than her husband, who she considered dull, and her daughter, who was so exasperatingly different from her. No one outside of their immediate home was aware that they were adopted because it was something hardly mentioned and their strong connection as a family unit was unhampered—unless you count the divorce.

Disaster struck a couple years ago though when Mr. and Mrs. Brief separated. All three siblings took it with difficulty. Bulma's grades had dropped severely for two quarters in a row until she had forced herself out of the depression, with Yamcha's help she had to admit. Raditz became reclusive for nearly a year and had to be sent to counseling before he could come to terms with it, and Goku had resorted to bad behavior in school. He'd been expelled from three already, leaving Saiyan Academy to deal with him this school year. He was an exceptional fighter, taught Bulma everything he knew, but it didn't matter when he wasn't allowed to participate in the World Martial Arts Tournament due to his expulsions and poor behavioral record.

"Hey, Goku," Bulma greeted as she let herself in. His door had been ajar, not that she would have bothered knocking anyway. She plopped down comfortably on his bed, watching as he shoved clusters of clothes into a suitcase. "Maron the Moron was out front creeping hard." She made a face at her brother to show her disdain for his girlfriend.

Goku only grunted, too concentrated on his task to care very much about Maron's whereabouts.

Bulma stretched herself out on the bed more, lounging. "I don't get why you date her. She's such a troll."

At last, Goku paused what he was doing, and smiled pervertedly. He gave a slight shrug. "A troll with big cans." He was referencing her overabundance of boobs.

"Boys—you're all dogs," Bulma chastised. "No amount of boobs can make up for a personality as bad as hers." She cocked her head to its side in curiosity as Goku tossed some luggage out his window. "There's this awesome thing called a front door y'know."

Goku gave a laugh. "I don't want mom flipping out if she sees me. I told her I'm going to stay with dad until school starts so I don't cause her any grief. I'm really going to Supreme Kai's place to train to be a better fighter though. I can compete in the World Martial Arts Tournaments as a singles wildcard fighter that way." The Supreme Kai was a sort of eccentric fighting instructor known for his taste in badly told jokes, but those who served under his tutelage were exemplary fighters and often earned championship titles in the World Martial Arts Tournament. "Who would have thought that divorce could have a positive outcome after all?" She knew he was being sarcastic, but could still detect the obtrusive impact their parents' separation had had on him.

Bulma did have to admit she was mildly impressed with the plan. It was very clever of Goku. But he was forgetting one thing. How was he going to explain his absence at school? "Aren't you supposed to be starting at Saiyan Academy? How's that supposed to work out?" She couldn't help but ask him all the questions which were glaringly obvious. His plan, albeit seemingly solid, had gaping flaws.

He smiled sheepishly. "I thought maybe you'd be an awesome sister and call them to tell them I'm dying, highly contagious too, and then when the semester's over tell them it's a miracle I'm still alive."

"An entire semester!" Bulma nearly choked. "You're going to get expelled again and then be held back! How are you supposed to get into a good college?" She knew was beginning to sound more like a parental figure rather than a sister, but she didn't want Goku making mistakes he would later regret.

Goku sighed. "Bulma, it's not as if I want to be a rocket scientist like you or dad. I want to be a pro fighter. I can't do that if I'm too busy learning Steve Irwin's Evolutionary Theory."

"Charles Darwin's Evolutionary Theory," Bulma corrected.

"Whatever," he replied. "The only way I can take my skills to the next level is by training with the Supreme Kai." He propped the window open all the way to ensure he'd fit through it as he carefully slid out. She had already guessed his motorcycle, Nimbus, as he fondly called it, was just outside and fueled efficiently for the trip ahead.

"Goku, what if becoming a champion fighter isn't all it's cracked up to be and then you're left with no backup plan?" Bulma called. "That's a pretty big risk there!"

Goku's head resurfaced. He was grinning. "I guess I like taking risks then. You should try it sometime." Then, he was gone.

Bulma carefully considered his last words. Perhaps he was right in a way. Sometimes you had to chase your dreams down if they wouldn't come easily to you.

"Who are you talking to?" Mrs. Brief materialized in the doorway. "Please don't tell me I need to send you for counseling too. I don't think I can handle both you and Raditz so fixated on your issues with mine and your father's separation. Is this something every family goes through? Sometimes I feel like it's just me." Always a dramatic one.

"No, mom." Bulma spared an eye roll.

She wasn't buying it. "I thought I heard nimbus. That bike is so loud—our poor neighbors must suffer. I wish he would just get a car like a normal person. It's not as if we are unable to afford it." Her mother scowled.

"That was just Goku on speaker phone. He was working on his bike, testing the engine." She motioned to her cell phone. Lucky for her she always had it on her. "He's at dad's place now. They're developing a cure for cancer together." Bulma almost smacked herself. She had just finished saying Goku was playing mechanic. 'Well, whatever, people are totally capable of multitasking,' Bulma reminded herself.

It was evident she didn't have to worry about arousing suspicion though. Her mother could care less as she held up the same kimono from before and twirled it. "Just imagine how beautiful you will look when you emerge a full-fledged geisha after they call your name at the Festival of Shenron, and you delight your audience with a beautiful dance. Miss Bulma Delilah Brief."

Bulma pretended to gag. "Sorry, mom. I'm not about that life."

"I'd have better luck getting Goku into this dress and getting you into his gi than the other way around." Her mother huffed angrily, turned on her heel and left Bulma to herself.

She finally peeled herself from Goku's bed and gazed at herself in the mirror he had. She studied her reflection, envisioning several possibilities. Goku's words about taking risks echoed once more in her head.

She grinned suddenly, mind set. "I guess you never really know until you try."

**King Yenma's Place**

Raditz howled with laughter, unable to decide whether he should take his sister's request seriously. Setting his chopsticks down he said, "I'm fairly certain I must have heard you incorrectly, because what you seem to be proposing is that you want to parade yourself around as our brother—but that can't possibly be what you meant to say since that would be absurd."

"Absurd enough to work," Bulma smiled. Her two friends, Ranfan and Launch, nodded in approval to suggest they supported the idea as if it were their own. "I'm going to go to Saiyan Academy as Goku, join the men's martial arts team, and beat any Orange Star opponents I face in the World Martial Arts Tournament team division."

He patted her on the head affectionately. "I think dad ran out of test subjects and got desperate so he used you instead. These are the symptoms of radiation talking, not you." Raditz returned to his meal, shoving a heap of noodles into his mouth. Similar to Goku, Raditz had an outrageously large appetite.

"I can do it," Bulma insisted. "I'm nowhere near as good a fighter as you or Goku, but I can hold my own in the team division even if it is men's."

"Bulma, be practical," Raditz said, striping his attention from his meal to his sister. "You have a girl's voice, unlike your friend Launch over here." She stuck her tongue out at him in disdain in reaction to the insult, but he ignored her. "Your mentality, despite what you may think, is that of a tough girl, but still a _girl _nonetheless. You have long, obvious blue hair. You're small-framed, very much unlike Goku and me." He paused once more, giving her a more serious look. "And you have boobs, not pecs." He motioned to his own well-defined pectorals to provide an example. "You're not as busty as Maron the Moron, but you have enough to make your gender apparent. You won't be able to get away with it."

Ranfan defended the scheme this time. "No one's seen Goku at Saiyan Academy. They'll have no one to compare her to."

Raditz rolled his eyes. Bulma's friends were loyal to her, he'd give them that, but they were being just as impractical as she. "They'll know she doesn't have a dick."

"No need to be crude," Ranfan said with censure.

He shrugged. "I'm just being honest. No guy is going to actually believe she's a dude. That's the bottom line. She's been living under the girl code for too long to be reformed under guy code restrictions."

"But you can teach me all of that," Bulma asserted. "Please, Raditz?"

It was hard to resist his younger sister when she asked anything of him. It had been that way since they were children. He'd often let both his younger siblings get their way and if their ways differed from one another, Bulma would win. Raditz and Goku were extremely fond and protective over her, which was part of the reason why he believed he should put his foot down. She would get herself into trouble if she was found out, perhaps even be expelled from both schools and it would ruin her chances of all the scholarships she was destined for.

Looking into his sister's eyes, he reached his decision. "I seriously hope this isn't some sick way for you to get back at Yamcha by becoming a transvestite."

Bulma and her friends shared high-fives and cheered. That was Raditz's way of giving into her request. "Yamcha can suck my non-existent dick," she grinned.

"Spoken like a true dude—well, sort of," Raditz laughed. He stood up abruptly and examined his sister from head to toe. He tugged her long blue locks and frowned. "You'll have to cut this short, probably like Launch's new 'do, and wear wigs. One wig should look like Goku's hair, and another should look like the way you have your hair now so that mom doesn't freak."

Bulma eyed Launch's hair warily. She'd cropped most of it off except the top, an edgier look than all the others she had tried. The top part was bleached blonde and the sides remained somewhat dark, her trademark two-toned hair, no matter which style she tried. Bulma was grateful she wouldn't have to cut her hair exactly the same way, just decrease its length enough to wear a wig comfortably.

She couldn't help but smile. This scheme was just crazy enough to work. She could feel it in her bones, the same feeling she got when she was on the brink of a scientific breakthrough, a feeling that seeped through her skin and warmed her entire body. "This is totally happening!" She exclaimed, pumping her fists into the air.

"And I've totally got my work cut out for me," Raditz chuckled, partly serious, partly in humor.

* * *

Author's Note: Big brother Raditz to the rescue with training Bulma to be Goku. They've both got an interesting task to face together. What do you think?


	3. Welcome to Hell

**One of the Boys**

Disclaimer:I don't own any of the Dragon Ball Series or its continuations and spin-offs. This is loosely based off of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night."

Summary: Bulma hatches a wild scheme to compete in the World Martial Arts Tournament.

**Chapter Three: Welcome to Hell**

* * *

Bulma had worked quite diligently the past few days to learn and retain everything Raditz had taught her about how to be a guy. Together, she and her brother had covered all the basics from belching to manly topics of discussion the first day.

He had taken her out to the city's most popular shopping center and instructed her to follow some of the male inhabitants, copying their style of walking. It was strange at first. She did struggle with getting over the feeling of being a stalker before she could properly emulate a guy's particular style of walking. She had followed several different guys to mirror their mannerisms, but not too closely to bring attention to herself and what she was doing. After figuring out which manner of 'dude-walking,' as she called it, suited her best, she moved onto the next step.

Raditz had taught her several types of guy-greetings which ranged from chest bumps, a simple 'sup man,' to more intricate handshakes which almost always ended in a solid shouldering which left her sore.

Next was transforming her appearance. Ranfan and Launch took over the project somewhat, choosing a salon to commit her to a short haircut. Raditz, of course, came along and selected two wigs for her, but not without complaint of how gay he felt in doing so. She often responded with undying appreciation and promised she would make it up to him.

Raditz, Ranfan, and Launch took Bulma shopping after. Often times, the three would come to a disagreement over which clothing style Bulma was to adopt. Launch preferred a more military look, lots of camo and skulls while Ranfan was an advocate for a stylish metro look. Raditz would have neither. He told Bulma it was in her best interest to blend in and to appear as much like Goku as she could. While the students and faculty of Saiyan Academy had never seen their brother, they had certainly heard rumors of him. He was too popular of a fighter for people to not know at least some of his attributes.

"You may even want to eat a lot," Raditz had told Bulma, earning a look of chagrin. "It's bulking season." She was a very picky and healthy eater, unlike her two brothers who would consume almost anything and in large quantities.

Gazing into her bathroom mirror, she looked her reflection in the eyes and said, "This is it, Bulma. From now on, you are Goku." She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder, as she was accustomed to, and made her way downstairs. She was almost to her front door when her mother called after her.

"Leaving somewhere, pumpkin?" Mrs. Brief sat at the dining table with stationary scattered about it, likely another one of her projects.

"I'm going to dad's before the semester begins, remember?" Bulma tried to sound as reassuring as possible, but she knew her mother wouldn't like that all of her children would leave her company to be in their father's.

"I won't allow it," Mrs. Brief said firmly. "I already have to deal with Goku and Raditz gone. I don't want to be here all by myself in this house. It's not mentally healthy for a woman my age to spend so much time alone." Her mother stuck out her lower lip in a pout, a telltale sign of oncoming waterworks if she didn't get her way. "I could get sick and die, and no one would ever know!" Bulma noted how childish her mother could be.

'That's why you should have never separated from dad,' Bulma thought gingerly. Nevertheless, she would never voice this. She didn't necessarily agree with the separation, but she also would never say anything hurtful to her mother about it. She frequently suspected that the separation had caused her mother much more grief than she let on. She'd caught her staring at old photos of her and her husband, ones she claimed to have thrown out, on more than one occasion. Mrs. Brief undoubtedly missed him, but neither of them was quite willing to swallow their pride and admit it.

Those morbid thoughts aside, it was time for her to put her brilliant mind to work and come up with an excuse. "Since Goku's over there so is Maron. As a well-versed geisha, I was hoping Maron could teach me everything I need to know." She smiled, showing the white of her teeth. "I'm actually kind of excited," she feigned giddiness.

Delighted, Mrs. Brief stood in her seat and rushed over to embrace her daughter. Joyous tears spilled from her eyes, which still seemed closed, as she tightened the hug. "I knew one day you would be 'about that life' like I always hear you say. I'm so proud of you I can hardly bear it!"

"Me too," Bulma admitted, but she was reffering to the forcible contact. It came out in a breathy gasp through the constriction of the embrace.

Her mother finally released her, almost pushing her to the door as if she couldn't wait another second for her daughter to be in Maron's enlightening presence. "We have a smaller festival coming up for fundraising. Remind your brothers when you see them that they both have booths to run, then there's the Festival of Shenron, your first coming out as a real geisha." She wiped at another tear. "Ask Maron to teach you to properly walk in getas—more like a lady and less like a man. You always stomp around when you wear them, like a hulking guy in drag trying them on for the first time." Bulma was about to respond to the gibe when her mother gathered her into another, more forceful embrace. She buried her face into her daughter's shoulder. "You were destined for great things Bulma and being a lady is one of them!"

Bulma couldn't help but laugh at the irony as she stepped out the door. 'Or being a man you mean…'

**First Day of School at Saiyan Academy**

Her transformation had begun with a chest wrap, securing her cleavage from protrusion. She was lucky enough that Saiyan Academy was strict about uniforms so she wouldn't have to stress out about picking out guy-appropriate outfits until weekends or other leisure time.

Launch had taught her to make her eyebrows thicker by using dark eyeliner, a useful trick, considering men typically had more eyebrow hairs than her perfectly tweezed ones. Other than that, she would have to make do without makeup. She could already foresee the struggles of going so long without lip gloss. Raditz had warned her that shiny cherry-flavored lips were a dead giveaway of either being gay or a woman, and neither accusation would work in her favor.

Bracing herself, she stepped out of the passenger's side of the car, wearing the black wig which closely resembled Goku's hairstyle. She nervously straightened her tie and then abruptly turned around to whisper loudly at Raditz. "Do you reall think it's time?"

"Of course," Raditz replied. "I wouldn't have brought you out here if I didn't think you could do this." He forced a smile, but his eyes were filled with concern. He wasn't quite sure he believed his own words either.

Still, Bulma nodded and turned to face Saiyan Academy. Just as she did so, a male student walked by her, gently brushing against her shoulder. "Sorry, man, almost didn't see you there."

She cleared her throat to make her voice sound gruff. "It's cool, man," she grunted. He nodded in response and then continued on his way. Bulma made a sharp about-face and almost yelled at her brother. "He's going to go tell on me," she hissed. She clambered back into the car. Raditz followed suit, but on the driver's side. The two engaged in a brief dispute:

"He probably felt my boobs when he bumped into me!"

"It was an accident. I doubt he could feel anything."

"Are you calling me flat?"

"I never said that—I'm just saying he probably didn't feel much with your chest all wrapped. Stop acting paranoid!"

"Paranoid? I'm clearly just confused about my gender."

"You knew this would happen when you decided to be a part of this insanity."

"You're right—this _is_ insane. This is _madness_!"

"This isn't madness. This is Saiyan Academy!"

"I can't do this. I'm not doing this."

"Stop that! I'm not letting you puss out on me after I spent so much time teaching you guy shit."

"You can't make me! You can't make me! You can't make me!"

"Enough is enough," Raditz growled. He grabbed his sister by the shoulders and pushed her out of the car until she finally gave in and did the rest of the exiting on her own.

"Fine, fine!" She conceded defeat. He climbed out after from the passenger's side, making sure to grab her duffel bag for her as he did so.

"Practice round right now," he instructed. "Go!"

Clearing her throat to make it sound rougher, she said, "Hey, I'm Goku! Got anything to eat around here?"

"Perfect," Raditz nodded. "Just like him. Okay, let's see that Saiyan swagger." She complied, casually completing her man-strut, another term she'd come up with for her walking style. He gave another nod of approval. "Oh, no! Phlegm has built up in your throat, causing you esophageal discomfort, and your balls are being pinched by your pants. What do you do?"

Bulma rolled her eyes, but committed anyway. She formed a cough in preparation and then released a large glob of spit mixed with phlegm, shooting it from her mouth at a pretty decent distance, she smirked at the accomplishment. Next, she placed her hand to her crotch and shook the space where her 'junk' ought to be and straightened herself to show she'd achieved the adjustment.

Snatching her in an embrace, Raditz said, "I'd never thought I'd be so proud of my sister for a crotch grab. You were such a douche about it."

She beat him off, saying, "Cut it out, Raditz. It's not gay time!"

He released her and grinned. "Remember, Bulma—I mean, Goku—deep within a woman, is a man wanting to come into the world." She furrowed her brow and the reaction made him realize he could have phrased that better. "That sounded incredibly perverted," her brother admitted apologetically. "You catch my drift though."

She smiled and nodded, trusting in his sincerity. She took a deep breath and prepared herself to walk alongside the massive throng of students in quest for their dorm spaces.

"B," her brother called. She turned to face him one last time. "I know I told you I wasn't going to give you this until you had at least five of them." He reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and revealed a beautiful four-starred orb. "But, here. Keep it for good luck. Our brother would have wanted you to hang onto it too." He tossed it over to her and she caught it with both hands. "I outgrew those urban legends a long time ago, anyway. Just don't wish for Yamcha back."

"I won't," she promised and then took her first step toward her new high school.

Saiyan Academy was more than colossal. And it seemed as though every single faculty member and student was making their way through the school as she was. It was difficult for her to navigate through such a huge and crowded landscape. There were so many buildings with names she didn't recognize, although she had studied a campus map beforehand. Several club members had set up stands, looking to recruit new members into their organization. Many of them had beckoned her to which she politely mouthed no thank you.

She looked absolutely terrified. She was lost, with absolutely no sense of where she was going or where she currently was. She once considered herself good with map-reading, but this was clearly a test of her skill in which she was failing. She also couldn't shake the thought that every individual she passed by was onto her scheme, each eyeing her suspiciously. However, she settled herself to more reasonable and less paranoid thinking. It wasn't because they knew what she was up to but were instead perplexed as to why she was wandering around so erratically and with such a mortified expression. She had made a spectacle of herself with her unpredictable course-plotting.

"Get a hold of yourself," she growled. She barely managed to avoid being trampled by the school's marching band and had to thrust herself out of the way. After recollecting her composure, she got her bearings and now recognized what area of the school she was in. She steered through her decisive route and finally made her way into her dorm building, Namek Hall.

She narrowly dodged flying hockey pucks, basketballs, footballs, Frisbees and other random objects which threatened decapitation. A guy whizzing buy on a scooter nearly claimed one of her feet as she hobbled out of the way. It was like a testosterone jungle, but she wasn't ready to fall victim to it yet. She ducked, pivoted and even leapt out of the line of fire several times before nearly colliding into her own dormitory door.

She seized it, wrenching it open and rushed through it. She pressed her entire weight against it to ensure it had closed and would keep her safe from what viciousness lied on the other side. Breathing heavily, she slowly turned around and was surprised to see three young men eyeing her as if she were the most awkward human being on the planet.

She wondered briefly if perhaps they were correct in that assumption. Clearing her throat in preparation to use her man-voice, she stepped forward. "Sup!" It came out as almost a yell, earning her perplexed glances from each of the men in her company.

One of the guys was shirtless. Growing up with two brothers, she was used to the exposure. However, she hadn't expected to find this guy so attractive. Unlike Yamcha, he wasn't tall at all. He was actually very short in comparison, about her height give or take an inch or two. His hair was dark black and seemed to spike up. Perhaps an over usage of hair gel, but the longer Bulma looked at it, the more she began to wonder if it just naturally sat that way on his head. His eyes were dark and determined looking, but there was something startling magnetic about them, begging for a closer look, which Bulma resisted. He had an arrogant air about him. That was evident in his posture and his dude-walk. Whoever he was, he was proud of it.

He didn't pay her too much attention. Instead he carried on still confidently, but leisurely, as he organized some of his belongings. The other two guys didn't pay her any heed either. One sat at a computer desk. He was even smaller than the first guy she'd inspected. Then, next to him, was a very husky-looking man who shared a similar bald head as his companion who never removed his eyes from the computer. This burly hulk of being had stationed himself at the window seat as he looked over a magazine, probably filled with scantily clad or naked women and power tools.

"How's settling in?" Bulma asked in her awkward gruff tone of voice. She attempted to put her dorm keys back into her backpack but lost grip of them in her nervousness. They dropped to the floor and she clumsily bent over to pick them up.

"Who are you?" The spiky haired young man approached her at last. She fought hard to ignore his chiseled muscles. Raditz had warned her about being careful not to check out guys otherwise she'd come off as gay.

"Goku Son," she replied. Both Goku and Raditz had chosen to keep their grandfather's last name in remembrance of him.

"Vegeta Prince." He extended his hand for her to shake.

She immediately recognized him after he revealed his identity. She never knew him from appearance but she did by name. She had entered herself in the city's high school division of the annual science fair every school year, often taking first place. However, in the year of her parents' separation when her grades plummeted, someone named Vegeta Prince had won the honor. She had been disappointed to say the least, but the blame was hers for not trying hard enough.

She accepted his hand, and commenced a shoulder thrust. It ended up being more like an awkward half-hug as she slammed her hand hardily against his back. He shoved her slightly to remove her from him and end the discomfort as quickly as possible. Perhaps she should have practiced that particular greeting more with Raditz.

'That was super awkward,' Bulma thought to herself, but managed a smile.

Her roommate pointed to his two friends. "That's Krillin Pinewood," he said in reference to the diminutive boy at the computer desk. He'd finally unglued his gaze long enough to make eye contact with her. This time, she just gave a head nod. "And that's Nappa Greenfield." He gave a short wave of his hand. Bulma gave another head nod to remain inconspicuous. "Their dorm connects to ours." He motioned toward a subtle brown door that Bulma hadn't noticed when she first entered. It seemed to be able to lock from both sides so the room sharing would be mutual.

Krillin eyed her critically. "Are you lost?" He was probably referencing her petite size although she was definitely taller than him.

"You look like fresh meat," Nappa concurred. "Did you come to the wrong hall?"

Fearful she'd be found out this early in the game, she laughed it off. "I was homeschooled which put me ahead in all my classes. They just let me advance sooner—I'm kind of a genius." She placed a finger playfully to her lips, "Shh." She smiled, let a small giggle escape, and attempted to sit down on her new bed. She nearly fell over after forgetting that the space she chose to sit was already occupied by her duffel bag. She could see Vegeta just looked embarrassed. She tried to distract them with a new topic of discussion. "So, do you guys know when martial arts team tryouts are?"

"You're a fighter?" Vegeta looked amused.

"Definitely," Bulma responded. Not wanting to face them any longer because of the weird glances they were exchanging, she turned her attention to her duffel bag and began to unpack some of her belongings. "How about you guys?"

"All three of us are veteran team members," Vegeta informed her. "Nappa's got three titles, Krillin has one, and I have seven."

She arched an eyebrow, finally figuring out where his cockiness had been derived from. Seven titles was definitely something worth bragging about. Yamcha only had two titles and the second one he shared with another fighter because the match had ended in a draw. When Raditz was a high school student, he held five titles, the record at that time, until Goku came and claimed six and broke it. Bulma wasn't aware that the record had been shattered yet again. Goku would have been likely to remain the record holder, earning more titles, if his expulsion hadn't disqualified his admission in the tournament the last year.

"We have fourteen team titles." Nappa was grinning, clearly proud of the achievement. "No team in history can boast that, not even Orange Star despite their wins from the last couple years. This year, we'll be taking back our chamption titles and make it a beautiful record of fifteen."

'Interesting' Bulma surmised to herself, as she grabbed a pair of boots from her duffel bag and casually tossed them onto the bed. One of the pair fell over and a box of women products, tampons to be exact, made their presence known to the three men behind her. She prayed none of them would take notice, but quickly realized that was asking for too much.

"That time of the month again?" Vegeta asked harshly. He gave a crude laugh. The sound wasn't pleasant.

Bulma's mind scrambled to think up a list of possible excuses, and she chose the most probable. She tried to laugh it off. "My sister probably put them in my bag. We have a running joke with tampons and pull tamp-pranks on each other." She mentally congratulated herself on her cleverness, and the development of the term 'tamp-pranks.' She never ceased to amuse herself with her inventive vocabulary.

To the revulsion of the men, she picked up the box and removed a tampon from its wrapper. Every single one drew back, almost in fear, of the liquid-retaining product. "Sometimes I stick them up her nose when she's sleeping like this." To demonstrate, she took off the casing and shoved it up a nostril.

"What kind of person _are _you?" Krillin's lips curled in repugnance. "That's disgusting. Your sister must hate you!"

Nappa was in a state of blustering mirth. He clutched his stomach, as if the act caused him abdominal discomfort, with each laugh increasing in volume. He eventually had enough restraint to pat Vegeta on the back and managed to get out, "Good luck dealing with that, Vegeta."

The men howled with more amusement, making several more jokes regarding the tampons, most of which she would prefer not to meditate too much on later when she summarized her day, a habit she had before going to bed.

She pulled the tampon from her nose by its string and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket. Her first day hadn't gone exactly as she had hoped. She'd already made a fool of herself in front of her new dormmate and his two obviously close friends. It didn't help she would have to see much more of them once she tried out for the martial arts team.

She plastered a smile to her face, only to her knowledge for her company had already moved onto other conversations. She was going to make the best of this situation because she had a point to prove. She was stubborn, and she'd prove to the people of Orange Star that she had what it took to hold her own on the men's team.

**Martial Arts Team Tryouts**

Coach Piccolo's methods were far different than Coach Ginyu's whose lax nature had often rubbed off on his team. Piccolo was anything but lax though. Pacing along the lined up potential members of his martial arts team, he seemed to bark rather than speak as he sized each and every one of them up.

He paused at a young man about a yard away from Bulma, looking over him disapprovingly. "Lucky for you Saiyan Academy has an excellent gym," he grunted.

'Ouch,' Bulma winced. 'That was a tad harsh.' She could feel herself hold her breath as he neared her place in the line. Her heart almost sank when he paused, but instead of looking at her, he was scrutinizing the person beside her. He said nothing, only looked irately at the young man, but that somehow was worse than an insult. Only when Coach Piccolo finished overlooking the prospects, did Bulma feel a wave of relief wash over her. She was grateful to be spared by any hurtful remarks he may have had for her.

"Let's see what you girls are made out of." Bulma's eyes widened as the coach barked out, "Shirts and skins."

What happened if she got labeled as a skin and was expected to remove her shirt? She couldn't expose her chest. They'd all know she was a woman. It was excuse hatching time. She detested that she had been forced to lie so much to everyone around her, but there was no other way.

"Excuse me, Coach," she called to him. Piccolo turned to face her and she almost dropped the subject entirely. "Can I be a shirt?"

"What did you say?" That was a growl.

Teeth gritted to keep from quivering in his presence, she explained, "I have a skin condition and can't be overly exposed to the sun."

"Skin condition?" Piccolo sounded astonished.

"It could be fatal if I'm not careful," Bulma insisted, praying he wouldn't send her away completely for the excuse.

"Should I follow you around the field with a geisha's parasol to ensure your safety?" Bulma remained silent, recognizing it was a rhetorical question. She waited for a clearer answer. "Very well, you're a shirt."

No more time was squandered as Coach Piccolo blew his whistle, alerting the potential members to commence practice. He had them do several drills to condition them. Bulma was used to this type of training, but not on this level of exertion. Men's practice was much more physically demanding than she had expected, more so than she would have liked to admit. After going head to head with some of the men, Bulma quickly realized she greatly lacked in physicality in comparison. It was a hard pill for her to swallow.

"Line up," Piccolo ordered them as he made some final marks on the clipboard he carried. It had already been two straight hours of grueling practice and he'd witnessed enough to assess them all. "I saw a lot of potential today, which gives me hope for a good season. However, some of you have plenty of room for improvement." Bulma prayed he wasn't referring to her. "That being said, you'll be divided into two teams comprised of first and second string." He raised the clipboard, glancing over the notes he'd made. "I don't want you second stringers to take it to heart. Real fighters will put in the work and challenge their way to the top. But as of now, you won't have any matches unless someone in first string is unable to compete."

Bulma's heart skipped a beat as he called out several names. Coach Piccolo tossed an old jersey with each named called. 'Please, please, please don't let me be on second string,' she begged.

"…And Goku Son." Bulma looked down to the worn jersey she held in her hands.

'Second string—is that all I'm good enough for?' She thought, hanging her head low and letting the jersey rest at her side. She hadn't expected to be the best, but she hadn't expected to be the worst either. This was one rude awakening for her, she realized as she sauntered to the locker room alongside everyone else.

She scratched at her neck, too exhausted to feel grossed out by the grimy layers of dirt on her skin. She needed a shower badly. Sighing, she casually pitched the jersey she'd been given into her locker. She had been so wrapped up in her self-pity that she hadn't noticed when the men around her began to prepare themselves for showers until she bumped into Nappa's wide bare chest.

"You're in my way—get out of it," he grunted.

She did.

One of the guys threw her a towel, which she reluctantly accepted as she tried to determine what course of action she should take to avoid this increasingly awkward scenario. She placed a hand to her face in an effort to block her view of the many male reproductive organs she was unintentionally being flashed. Men truly had no shame in their nudity it seemed. Her eyes strained to the exit. She wondered how strangely it would make her seem if she bolted right then and there.

That is, if she could even make it there without fainting.

* * *

Author's Note: Things are certainly looking interesting for Bulma, and it's only her first day parading as Goku. What's to become of her?


End file.
